Lassie Come Home
by Beth Green
Summary: Deep down, is Shawn Spencer really a brave man?  Brave enough to take a bullet meant for someone else?  Reposted by request.


(Sorry for the repost, but something weird happened to this in cyberspace the first time around.)

Beth's Disclaimer V.4.0

WARNING: Any resemblance to persons living or dead in this story is purely coincidental. (Yeah, right!) No animals were harmed in the writing of this fic. However, the same cannot be said of the fictional characters. Contents under pressure. Not recommended for persons with sugar-restricted diets. Fat free; the calories, you have to pay for. No preservatives added. Shake well before using. All rights reserved; the lefts, I may consider sharing. May cause drowsiness. Allergy alert: not recommended for those afflicted with insensitivity. Return for refund where applicable. Not labeled for individual sale. Do not remove under penalty of law. Caution: this product has caused some laboratory rats to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Not recommended for children under two years of age. May cause irritability or insomnia with prolonged use. So there.

Author's Notes: Despite appearances to the contrary, I believe that Shawn is at heart, a brave man. I began to ponder: Is he brave enough to take a bullet for someone? Yeah? For who? I picked on Lassiter first, just because I wanted an excuse to use the title.

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TITLE: **Lassie, Come Home**

AUTHOR: Beth Green

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Shawn and Gus were comfortably seated in their favorite haunt: the offices of the Santa Barbara police department. Once again, they had successfully aided the police in their quest for justice. In this particular case, a murder had been added to a murky mix of plots and counter-plots. Atypically, Shawn was not currently on the receiving end of a well-earned shower of accolades. For one thing, Detective Lassiter had managed to perform the bulk of the detective work on his own, without Shawn's assistance. For another, Shawn was unable to fully enjoy the celebration. He had the nagging feeling that there was something he'd overlooked.

He watched as the police officers heaped congratulations upon each other, occasionally remembering to send a few toward Shawn and Gus. Shawn found himself staring at Detective Lassiter. The man was smiling, but not with his usual superior smirk. Shawn tried to figure out what exactly was troubling him about Lassiter, but was unable to do so. "Gus, what does that remind you of?"

Gus did not understand Shawn's verbal shorthand. Unlike his friend, Gus did not pretend to be a psychic, nor was he able to read minds (particularly when it came to Shawn). He inquired, "What does what remind me of?"

Shawn clarified, "Lassie."

Gus deliberately misunderstood. "A dog. A collie, to be precise. Although Lassie was supposed to be a 'she,' in reality she has always been portrayed by male dogs. It seems that the bitches …"

Gus had not noticed Chief Vick approaching. Shawn had. He knew that the Chief would have only heard the last couple of words uttered by Gus. Shawn being Shawn, the psychic decided to take advantage of her arrival to torture his friend. He raised his voice loud enough to draw attention, and in indignant tones scolded, "Gus, you shouldn't talk about the women of the police department like that!"

Gus turned around and took in the Chief's crossed arms and severe frown as all eyes in the room turned toward them. He yelped, "What? No, Chief, I wasn't talking about you or any other women. I was talking about female bitches … I mean, dogs!"

Shawn nodded, but raised his eyebrows in a show of disbelief as he stated, "Ah yes, I believe I heard you refer to someone as a dog. Really, Gus, you're not helping your case any."

The Chief relaxed her stance. She knew Shawn, and more importantly Gus well enough not to believe the implied slur. She decided to see if she could persuade her visitors to leave before they caused any further disruptions. She asked, "Don't you two have somewhere else you need to be?"

Shawn leaned back and slouched down in his chair. He smiled as he replied, "No, we're good. Right, Gus?"

Gus hesitated. "I've really taken too much time off from work already this week. I need to get back to work if I want to keep my other job." He felt it necessary to add, "And I do."

Shawn pouted. "But Gus, the party's just getting started!"

Gus stood up and declared, "Maybe for you, but for me, the party's over."

Shawn gave Gus a small smile and a wave as his friend headed out of the office. The psychic was comfortable where he was, so he decided to resume his previous activity of Lassie-watching.

After a few minutes, he figured out part of what was puzzling him. The expression on Lassiter's face was one Shawn himself had seen in his own mirror. It was the self-satisfied smirk of someone who'd just gotten laid. He leaned forward as he mentally reviewed the details of the recently completed case.

Shawn's thoughts kept coming back to an attractive young lady who'd been peripherally involved in the case. The most memorable thing about Miss Lynn Smithee was her steadfast resistance to all of the psychic's considerable charm. He'd noticed her getting friendly with Lassiter. Had it evolved into something more than friendship? If so, why? There was no reason that someone as gorgeous as Lynn Smithee would hook up with a desperate dog like Lassie. No reason, _unless_ … His thoughts whirled frantically. God, if he was right, Lassiter was in a whole lot of trouble.

He headed into Lassiter's office to test his theory. He leaned a hip against the detective's desk. "So, Lassie, who was that girl I saw you with? It couldn't have been Lynn Smithee. Someone that gorgeous is frankly out of your league."

Lassiter did not find Shawn's words as annoying as he usually did. That fact alone caused Shawn's worry to increase.

The detective sat straight in his chair with his hands primly folded. He declared, "That, Mr. Spencer, shows that you are at heart a minor league player. It should come as no surprise that someone of Ms. Smithee's caliber would prefer a man over a boy like …" The detective pretended to be searching for the right words to complete his thought before he continued, "Oh, like you." He grinned triumphantly at Shawn as he uttered his final pronouncement.

Shawn did not take the insult sitting down. He abruptly stood up. He closed his eyes and raised one hand to his head while the other hand was extended in front of himself, patting at the air. The psychic gave a small moan as he tried to emphasize the seriousness of the situation. He stated, "I see … a man. It's Pearson." He opened one eye briefly as he clarified, "The dead guy."

Lassiter added, "Whose murder we just solved."

Shawn closed his eyes and continued. "He's not alone; he's with a woman; a lady in red; no, not wearing red, but there's red … on her hands." He paused for effect, then stated, "It's blood." Shawn opened his eyes and leaned forward, supporting himself from the exhausting 'vision' by resting the palms of his hands on Lassiter's desk. He made sure that he was staring at Lassiter eye-to-eye in an attempt to make the man see the sincerity shining in his eyes. "It's Ms. Smithee. The lady I saw, it was Lynn. And she was involved in Pearson's murder."

Lassiter increased the distance between himself and Shawn by simply pushing his chair away from his desk. He angrily declared, "That's low, even for you. It's sad what jealousy can reduce a man to."

Shawn walked around the desk, once again putting himself within touching distance. "Detective, I wish this was a simple prank, but it's not. I know what I saw."

Lassiter folded his arms across his chest. "If that's all you saw, your theory is totally lacking in anything resembling proof, or, what is it we detectives call it?" His voice raised in anger, he answered his own question. "Evidence, Mr. Spencer. Evidence that happens to be sorely lacking. Not that I believe that you really 'saw' anything, but if you did, I think you saw what you wanted to see." Lassiter stood up and took a step back, once again removing himself from the psychic's invasive presence. He pointed toward his door. "Leave. Now."

Shawn tried once more to plead his case. "But Lassie …"

He was interrupted by a shout of, "GET OUT!"

Shawn raised his hands in surrender as he realized that Lassiter was not going to listen to anyone casting aspersions on his girlfriend.

Shawn left. Once outside the police station, he knew where he had to go: Lynn Smithee's house. If there was evidence to be found, Ms. Smithee's home was the logical place to start searching. Shawn decided to call for backup. He pulled out his cellphone and hit the speed-dial for Gus' number. Shawn was pleased when the call was picked up on the third ring. He was afraid that Gus would be too wrapped up in his work to answer, especially once he realized who was calling.

"Hey, Gus, I'm glad I caught you."

Gus snapped back, "That's too bad. I'm not glad to be caught. You do know I'm at work?"

Shawn replied, "Well, so am I. You know how we thought the Pearson case was all wrapped up? I just figured something out - it's not. I need help with a stakeout."

Gus asked, "Who do you want to stake out?"

Shawn gave himself a drum roll introduction, then announced, "Lynn Smithee."

Gus was less than pleased with Shawn's answer. "If you think I'm going to help you stalk some woman who had sense enough to turn you down faster than a nun with a chastity belt, you've got another think coming. Goodbye." Gus hung up before Shawn could utter another word.

Shawn stared at the silent phone in his hand. "Ha! Shows how much you know! If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself." His lips wrinkled in displeasure. "Ugh! I sound like my Dad!" With that comment, he put away his cellphone and started up his motorcycle. He gunned the engine and took off, leaving a blackened trail of rubber on the road.

Fortunately for Shawn, Lynn Smithee had a greenhouse's worth of shrubbery surrounding her home. Shawn was able to keep out of sight, and out of the sun. He called Lynn's home, pleased when she answered. Now that he knew where she was, all he had to do was to wait for her to leave.

Less than an hour later, the object of his suspicion exited her house. Shawn waited until her car was out of sight, and then waited another five minutes just to make sure she didn't abruptly return to pick up some forgotten item.

He headed for the front door and was not surprised to find it locked. He grumbled, "On TV, this is always when they pull out the lock pick and impossibly enter within seconds." He sighed. "Unfortunately, this is reality." He circled around the house, testing windows. Much to his pleasure, he discovered that the bathroom window was not only unlocked, it was already partially open. All it took was a little hop and a pull-up and he was in. He rubbed his hands, eager to get started. "Okay. First stop, the bedroom."

Not ten minutes passed before Shawn found what he was looking for. His mental "Aha!" of triumph was interrupted by the sudden opening of the bedroom door. He jumped back, confronted by an armed man. He raised his hands in surrender. "Don't shoot!"

His fear increased when Lassiter continued to hold his gun steady and pointed straight at Shawn. The detective growled, "Spencer, by all rights you should be under arrest for breaking and entering."

Shawn cautiously lowered his hands as he replied, "Actually, there was no breaking involved."

Lassiter still did not lower his weapon. Shawn prompted, "So, do you think you could maybe put the gun away?"

Lassiter hesitated as if he were trying to decide whether or not to pull the trigger. Shawn breathed a sigh of relief when the detective holstered his weapon. The detective explained his presence. "It might interest you to know that this area is patrolled by a neighborhood watch. After one of the neighbors watched you sneaking around outside, they called the police. Luckily for you, the dispatcher recognized the address and referred the call to me. I had a pretty good idea who I'd find." He unleashed his barely-controlled anger, and shouted the next words. "What were you thinking?!"

"I -" In his eagerness to explain, Shawn nearly forgot that he was supposed to be a psychic. He began again, "I had a vision. There were some papers in this house, papers that would provide a damn good motive for Lynn to kill Pearson." Shawn picked up the legal-sized document he'd dropped after he'd been forced to raise his hands. He held the papers out toward the detective.

Lassiter reluctantly took them. His shoulders slumped as he read through the damning evidence. "I can't believe it."

Shawn and Lassiter were startled when a third voice declared, "Believe it."

Lynn Smithee was the speaker. She stood in the doorway, and more importantly, she was holding a gun. The beautiful woman was looking less attractive by the minute as she ordered, "Raise your hands. Both of you, stand up. Keep your hands where I can see them. Now, Carlton, I want you to very slowly and very carefully remove the gun from your shoulder holster and throw it across the room."

Lassiter had no choice. He complied with her request.

Lynn continued to give orders, fully in control of the situation. "Now, we're going to take a walk to the basement. Carlton, you know the way." She waved her hand to indicate that Lassiter should take the lead.

Shawn hoped that Lynn was merely going to lock them in the basement while she made her getaway. He feared that she wanted them in the basement so that she could kill them without having to worry about anyone hearing the shots. Shawn decided that if he was going to die, he would take advantage of their death march to criticize Lassiter.

"Lassie, can I just say that I don't think much of your taste in women?"

The detective stopped walking while he responded, "You're a fine one to talk! Or have you already forgotten the way you were hanging all over the so-called 'lady' like a wet t-shirt?"

The alleged lady screeched, "Get in the goddamn basement or I'll shoot you where you stand!"

Lassiter knew that Lynn planned to shoot them the minute they reached the bottom of the stairs. He did not intend to make this easy for her. He raised his chin defiantly. "I think I'm tired of taking orders from a greedy, faithless whore!"

Shawn watched and listened in appalled fascination as Lassiter's words pushed Lynn over the edge of sanity. Shawn read her body language after the detective hurled his last insult. He saw her eyes narrow as she gazed along the gun's sight, her body tense, and her finger begin to tighten upon the gun's trigger. In the blink of an eye, Shawn was in motion. He slammed into her with a full-body tackle, yelling as he felt a hot, burning pain through his upper chest.

Shawn provided the distraction needed for Lassiter to turn tragedy into triumph. He threw himself on top of Lynn and squeezed his hand around her gun hand, not stopping as he felt the bones of her wrist grind together until she cried out in pain and dropped the weapon. Lassiter made very sure that Lynn was in no position no cause any further harm. He took no care for her newly broken wrist as he wrenched her arms behind her back and applied handcuffs to his prisoner.

He pulled out his cellphone and called for backup and an ambulance. Only then did he have time to tend to Shawn. Spencer lay flat on his back, unmoving. Blood was leaking from a wound high along the right side of his chest. Shawn's eyes were open, but he was staring up at the ceiling, saying nothing. Lassiter noted the man's rapid, shallow breaths and extreme pallor. He knew that he was looking at someone who was going into shock.

Although he was frantic internally, externally he remained calm as he explained, "Shawn, I'm going to take a look at your shoulder." He tore off the right side of Shawn's shirt from the collar downward, enabling him to see that the wound on the front of his chest was a small entrance hole caused by a bullet tearing through the skin. He continued to examine the wounded man. "I need to take a look at your back." Looking for a possible exit wound, he assisted the uncomplaining Shawn as he turned onto his left side. Once Shawn was positioned properly, the detective could see that there was a larger pool of red along Shawn's upper back. He stood up and announced, "I'm going to get a towel." Fortunately they were in the kitchen so he did not have to travel more than a few steps.

Shawn's thoughts were fuzzy. He remembered throwing himself at Lynn. He remembered that that's when his shoulder had begun to hurt. _Huh. Must've hurt it when I fell. _He was vaguely aware of Lassiter fussing somewhere nearby. When the detective mentioned that he was going to get a towel, Shawn decided that was a good idea. His shirt was wet, and he was sure he'd be more comfortable with a towel to dry it off. That thought, as it turned out, was incredibly wrong.

Lassiter tore the shirt away from Shawn's back, revealing the larger wound made when the bullet had exited Shawn's body. He pressed the towels he'd brought against both wounds. As much as he hated to hurt Shawn, he was encouraged when the injured man responded appropriately.

Shawn writhed and attempted to pull away from the source of pain. He was unsuccessful. He announced his discomfort with a repeated litany that grew steadily in volume. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, OW!" He was suddenly, painfully awake. "Lassie, get off of me!"

Lassiter's voice held an unfamiliar pity as he explained, "I'm sorry. I'm trying to stop the bleeding."

Shawn's voice reflected his weakness as he asked for clarification. "I'm bleeding?"

Lassiter tried to be gentle and explained, "Don't panic, but you've been shot. The good news is that it looks like a clean hit, through-and-through."

Shawn was too woozy to appreciate Lassiter's attempt to convince him that being shot was not as bad as it sounded. He guessed he must've passed out, as he didn't remember anything else until he woke up in the ambulance.

After a dizzying gurney ride, he was subjected to hours of torture in the emergency room. As if he wasn't in enough pain, his Dad arrived. "What the hell were you thinking? Forget it, I already know: you weren't thinking! You're not a cop. If you were a cop, you'd know that you don't go off to investigate a homicide without any backup!"

Shawn tried to ignore his father's words, but found it difficult to do so. His father had a disgusting habit of usually being dead right with his critical rants. Shawn laughed to himself at the thought. "Ha! Dead right! I could've been." In the room's sudden quiet, Shawn realized that he must've said that last bit out loud. His Dad looked like he was sucking on a lemon. It was the expression his father's face always wore when he was worried. Despite the verbal abuse, it was good to know he cared.

The doctor came into the room and Shawn was poked and prodded for what seemed like the twentieth time. The doctor finally proclaimed, "Mr. Spencer, you are a lucky man. Not only did the bullet miss your lung, but it avoided hitting any nerves or major arteries. The muscle damage will heal, in time. I'll be sending you home with a prescription for Vicodin for the pain, and you need to follow up with your family physician. You can go as soon as the nurse completes your discharge instructions."

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Over the next few days Shawn was fussed over properly like the wounded hero that he was. It seemed as if everyone he knew stopped by to visit. Everyone, that is, except for Lassiter.

Gus was understandably contrite. "Shawn, the next time you need backup, you call me, I'll be there."

Being well acquainted with the people nearest and dearest to him, Shawn deduced, "My Dad talked to you, didn't he?"

"Oh yeah."

Shawn continued, "Gus, I know that there are times that you're gonna blow me off, and there are times I'll return the favor. Just remember this the next time you get trapped in a room with Lassiter and some wacked-out psycho crazy killer: paybacks are a bitch."

Gus shuddered. "Maybe you should rethink this whole 'Psychic Detective' idea."

Shawn smiled despite the pain from his injured shoulder. "Nah. I'm having too much fun."

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When Juliet visited later in the week, she confessed, "I'm worried about Lassiter."

Shawn probed for further information. "What's he done now?"

"Nothing. And I mean that literally. I'm having to pick up more and more of his slack. Sooner or later, the Chief is going to notice." She reached out a hand and placed it gently on Shawn's shoulder. "He feels really bad about what happened. He doesn't go out all that much, and finding out that his latest girlfriend was a cold-blooded murderer was a big blow to his self-confidence."

Shawn directed, "Just tell him he's a big ninny and to get over it."

Juliet waved her hands in frustration. "I've tried telling him that." When Shawn looked at her with a shocked expression, she explained, "Not in those words, of course, but you know what I mean. I'm just not getting through to him."

Shawn frowned. "Keep me posted. Let me know if you need me to knock some sense into Mr. Potato Head."

Juliet provided Shawn with the requested updates. The news was not good.

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After a week, Shawn was able to manage his pain without the Vicodin. Now that he was clear-headed, he had Gus drive him over to the police station. He shared his plan, such as it was. "Lassie hasn't talked to me since he played doctor after I got shot. I figure if I meet with the man on his home turf, I'll be in his comfort zone and we can go head-to-head, mano-y-mano, especially if I …" He looked at his friend and quickly amended his plan, "Or you, physically block the door to his office."

Gus offered a word of caution: "I don't know, Shawn. It's usually not a good idea to corner a wounded animal."

Shawn waved off his friend's concern. "So we're back to Lassie as dog, are we?"

Gus scolded, "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

Shawn decided to save the arguing for his upcoming meeting with Lassiter. He conceded the point. "Yeah, Gus, I know."

Shawn arrived at the police station and found Lassiter sitting in his office, staring off into space. It was a few minutes before Lassiter noticed Shawn's presence, so the psychic took the opportunity to observe the detective. He didn't like what he saw. The man was pale, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, indicative of sleepless nights.

Shawn directed Gus, "Wait outside the door in case I need you." He knocked on the door frame to announce his presence. "What's wrong, Lassie? You look like somebody shot your dog."

Rather than verbally fight back, Lassiter looked up, stricken. "God, don't even joke about it!"

Shawn shrugged, then immediately grimaced. His left hand lifted to gently massage the injury on the right side of his chest. "Ow, that was kind of stupid."

Looking a little more lively, Lassiter agreed. "Yes, it was. I'm sure your doctor told you to be careful."

Shawn hastened to explain. "I wasn't referring to what I did. I was referring to your inability to take a joke."

Lassiter shook his head. "There is nothing that happened to you that in any way, shape, or form qualifies as comedic material." He bluntly confessed his greatest sin: "I slept with the woman who tried to kill you."

Shawn offered a reminder: "She tried to kill you, too."

The detective's eyes widened in disbelief. "And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

Shawn nodded, pleased. "That's the spirit. This is the part where you're supposed to remind me that I wouldn't have gotten shot if I hadn't let myself into Lynn Smithee's house."

Lassiter could not let that statement go by without comment. "You're damn right! Not only are you guilty of illegal entry, but if things had gone down differently, we wouldn't have been able to use the information that you discovered thanks to your illegal search and seizure."

Shawn smiled as Lassiter got into the spirit of the game. He encouraged the man's transition from regret to resentment by pointing out, "Since when does police procedure apply to a civilian?"

"Since that civilian has been in the employ of the police department as a consultant."

Shawn countered with, "But that civilian was not on the clock at the time of the incident." He waved a hand near his head and exclaimed, "Dude, I had a vision!"

"Maybe the next time you have a vision it won't send us off in the wrong direction to begin with."

"Hey, the signs are not always easy to interpret."

They continued to toss accusations and criticisms back and forth until Lassiter loudly and forcefully ordered Shawn to leave.

Shawn did so with no further argument. He smiled as he exited and declared, "He's ba-a-ck!" Many of the officers took the hint and ran with it, congratulating Shawn on his return to health. He didn't bother to tell them that his words referred to Lassiter. Shawn smugly reassured himself that with a little psychic activity, Lassiter would be well on the road to recovering his lost air of superiority.

Gus questioned his friend. "Do you think he's gonna be okay?"

"Yeah, Gus, I do." Shawn smirked. He couldn't help but add a coda. In a fake announcer's voice, he stated, "Yes, boys and girls, before we know it or even want it, Lassie will be back chasing cars and barking up the wrong tree."

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end


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